


Tumblr asks - One-shot collection

by jbae654



Category: Dragon Ball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: Awesome Bulma Briefs, Drunk flirting, F/M, One Night Stand, One-Shot, vegeta is so cute when flustered
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-04 10:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12769536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbae654/pseuds/jbae654
Summary: Collection of asks from Tumblr





	1. Pick up line only work when I’m drunk

It was long past midnight when the last of her guest slowly dwindled out the door. Leaving her and the clean-up crew behind to tend to the aftermath of her birthday party. She was officially another year older and the androids another year closer. The party had been glamorous, but deep down meaningless. Bulma had thrown it to fake normalcy, a desperate attempt to try and trick herself into one single evening free of worries and fear. It hadn't truly worked, even though her current buzz was quite pleasant, it did not alleviate the constant feeling of doom that had taken hold of her, and made a home in her chest when the mysterious young man from the future had told them about their fate.

Exhaling deeply and lighting a cigarette she surveyed the yard, it had been the perfect night for a pool party, even now, with the stars shining brightly above West City the temperature outside was enjoyable and serene. So serene in fact that she almost missed Vegetas sulking form by the Gazebo. His feet were swinging freely and he was leaning against one of the beams supporting the roof of the small circular structure. Prince of assholes had been a no-show at her party, despite her clear invitation.

Discarding her cigarette she crossed the lawn towards him and the small pond he currently seemed to survey.

"Hey, hot stuff, where were you all night?! I told you-you were invited!"

Bulma was proud of the way she kept her voice nonchalant, while deep down she was a little miffed that he hadn't even been lured in by the food - or her stunning dress. He grunted under his breath, leaving her to wonder if it was at her words or at her approach and invasion of his privacy. When she lifted herself to sit on the banister a few good inches from him, and he didn't leave or respond Bulma took it as a sign that he had merely acknowledged her words but did not seem them worthy of a reply; so she pressed on,

"You are really cute, we could still make this a party for two"

Her tone was teasing, her slight buzz making it easy to be flirty, and she had to stifle a giggle at the way his muscles tensed and his cheeks flushed. It was so easy to wind him up. Shaking his head as if to dismiss her question, or attempt to get rid of the blush of his cheeks she wasn't sure, but he surprised her when in answered in a low chuckle,

"Pick-up lines only work when I’m drunk"

It took several seconds for the meaning behind his words to fully sink in, and this time it was Bulma who averted her gaze - cheeks heated - to survey the tranquil water in front of them. After a few minutes, she slid silently off the banister and returned to the main compound, giving Vegeta the illusion that she had left him for the night. The feeling of loneliness that spread in his chest was as unwelcome as the spark of curiosity that set his nerves on fire when she returned a few minutes later. A bottle of a clear alcoholic beverage in one hand, two small glasses in the other. She set both onto the banister between them before lifting herself back up wordlessly and filling both their glasses.

Bulma took a generous swig of her glass, the expensive Vodka burning her throat, warming her insides and giving her liquid courage to ask her next question.

"So drunk one-night stands are a thing in space, huh?"

Vegeta, who had been carefully sniffing his drink up until this point, tipped his glass back and drank an alarmingly big shot of Vodka before refilling his glass. As quiet settled between them once again Bulma feared he would simply ignore her - like he had done so many times before, but then he asked in a low voice.

"What's a one-night stand?"

The foreign earth word sounding strange as it rolled off his tongue, and Bulma had to smile as she reminded herself how utterly alien this man next to her was.

"It's a single sexual encounter, people often don't know each other and it's free of expectations afterward. You just have sex with a stranger and move on."

Vegeta snorted into his raised drink, before mumbling a foreign word, as if he was making a connection, "Yes they are".

Bulma poured herself another drink.

"Are they.. you know.., your thing?"

Her entire face was burning and she couldn't believe how bold she was being. Her eyes darted to the stars and then back down to the lake, anywhere but Vegeta's face. From her peripheral she could see that he had turned towards her, watching her with those dark intense eyes that made her spine tingle in excitement.

Being the mysterious man he was Vegeta refilled both of their glasses and took another generous sip, she followed his example.

"I thought you brought the bottle to find out"

His eyes were dancing with mischief, his voice dark forbidden velvet, and Bulma found herself mesmerized by his dark pull and his playful tone. This was a new side of Vegeta, one she hadn't seen before. Taking another sip of Vodka she scooted closer, lifting her glass in a cheer and tossing all caution to the wind;

"Too finding out"


	2. You’re not dying, you have a cold

When Vegeta had sneezed in her Lab four days earlier she should have instantly gone on the offensive, Vegeta never sneezed, but she had been busy and he had waived it off as ‘this mudball rubbing off on him’. A hilarious statement considering that he had lived on this planet for almost 20 years, sharing two half-Saiyan children with her.

Now he was curled up and groaning in their bed, looking alarmingly pale and struggling to keep down a meal.

Bra had been sick a week prior, and evidently, she had given it to him. Surprising given the fact that Vegeta had never been sick before, but a quick blood test had revealed that while her husband still looked like a 35-year-old god time had not completely left him unaffected. His metabolism had changed as well as his nutritional needs, something neither of them had been aware of until he had fallen sick. A deficiency in vitamins had given the common cold a chance to knock him flat on his back.

Bulma was already working on a vitamin cocktail that would meet his specific needs and prevent this from happening in the future, but for now, he needed to ride out this sickness.

Scratching his slightly damp dark mane she sat on the bed next to him. He groaned again, leaning towards her touch and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like he was calling their 3-year-old daughter the devil in disguise.

For all the battles and villains he had fought, Vegeta was not taking being sick well. Complaining of sinus pressure and a cough as if he was in serious mortal danger. Men.

Leaving him a decongestant and strong cough syrup on the nightstand Bulma went for her own nightly shower, silently praying to Kami to speed up her husbands' recovery as well as her progress in the lab.

When she returned 25 minutes later Vegeta was still buried in the sheets, but he had turned over and was facing her side of the bed. Bulma smiled as she slip in beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his brow and drawing the covers over both of them.

It had been a busy day and Bulma was already drifting off to sleep when his hand found hers under the covers and directed it to his groin. Arching a delicate blue eyebrow at her alien husband Bulma opened her eyes, pulling her hand back she shook her head at him in mock reprimand.

“I love you Vegeta, but you are sick and sticky. We’ll save that for when you feel better.”

He grunted, dark eyes focusing on her from under heavy lids, as he slurred his next words in a way that made Bulma fully sit up next to him.

“Ihmmm daaahh..dying”

“You’re not dying, you have a cold!”

As the words left her mouth Bulma spotted the source of her husbands' dramatic outburst, the cough syrup -which contained alcohol- was entirely empty and so was the box of decongestant - which was not to be mixed with large amounts of alcohol. He had taken a weeks worth of medication all at once, not bothering with reading directions and trusting his superior Saiyan biology to work things out. Rolling her eyes at her husband, who was now snorring contently into his pillow, she laid back down. Tomorrow he was going to be mortified by his behavior.

Kami must have heard her prayer because the next day she stumbled across the solution for Vegeta’s new vitamin cocktail and her husband was back to his grumpy self in no time.

She found him late in the afternoon sternly instructing Bra on how to wash her hands properly, citing a recent outbreak of foul human diseases as the root of human failure. Their young daughter, standing on a stool, eagerly bend over the sink with soapy hands while beaming brightly at Vegeta over her shoulder, unaffected by her fathers' no-nonsense tone of voice. He was standing behind her, observing and instructing her to pay attention to the space between her fingers.

Bulma giggled, his first run-in with the common cold had clearly rattled him. As Bra bounced out of the kitchen a few seconds later, with all the abundant energy of a Saiyan child, Vegeta finally turned to face her.

It must have been obvious in her eyes how hilarious she found the development of the last few days because he blushed to the tips of his ears before snarling furiously at her.

“Don’t think you are save woman, one day I might decide to kill you after all!”


	3. Stop making your own rules

The kitchen looked like something bad had happened. Something terrible that had forced the inhabitants of this house to fight for their life’s with kitchen utensils.

The reality, however, was much less dramatic, annoying and exhausting nonetheless, but no fighting had taken place. No physical fighting anyway.

Vegeta was sure he had flower in his hair - amongst other places - and powdered sugar was coating his arms all the way to his elbows. The vein in his temple was throbbing at an alarming rate and he was fighting every muscle in his body that told him to rage.

“Daddy look!!”

Bra beamed at him with infectious excitement, eyes sparkling in the same impossible shade of blue as her mother’s, while presenting him with a cookie sheet containing terribly misshaped cookies which would surely be not edible - just like all the sheets before.

Vegeta only grunted in acknowledgment, the corner of his mouth curling against his will as his young daughter sprinkled her baking catastrophe with a coma-inducing amount of sugar. How he had ended up in this special form of hell he could not say.

Bra had come home from Kindergarten announcing that she needed to bake cookies for the annual Christmas extravaganza humans liked to put on. Panchy had gotten older and was out sick, Bulma was absolutely terrible in the art of baking and cooking, and Trunks had bolted the moment Bra had told the family about the baking that needed to be done.

Somehow he had ended up being the one in charge of making Christmas cookies. He. Prince of all Saiyans, destroyer of Worlds. How the mighty had fallen. Before this disaster had unfolded Vegeta had prepared himself by procuring a recipe, courtesy of Mrs. Briefs. How hard could it be to follow neatly written instructions?!

Apparently, if you had a 5-year old, _very hard_. When it came to rules and instructions his daughter took after her mother, a fact that almost drove Vegeta insane. He just wanted to make one edible plate of cookies so he could take a shower and never let Bra near the kitchen again.

As she observed the cookie sheet that had meanwhile been placed in the oven he busied himself with their 4th attempt of edible cookies. While Bra was mesmerized by the cookies fluffing up and turning golden brown Vegeta made progress with the dough. Painstakingly following instructions and cursing this planet in every language he knew. Just as he was about to roll out the first edible dough Bra dashed in with enough speed to convince him she could go super at any moment, adding a hefty load of chilly to the mix.

Vegeta groaned. Where had she even snatched that from?! The gods must be punishing him.

“Bra! Stop making your own rules! If you want to take edible cookies to your ridiculous joke of what humans call education you need to follow the recipe.”

Big blue eyes blinked up at him and his anger tampered down. Just like her mother, he couldn’t stay annoyed or frustrated with her for long. His daughter eyed the dough critically, assessing the chaos in the kitchen with calculating eyes that suddenly seemed very Saiyan.

“Bra knows Daddy. The cookies are for Michelle”

Like that explained anything. Pinching the bridge of his nose Vegeta silently counted to ten.

“And you are friends with Michelle?” Where was Bulma when he needed her?!Hearing about his daughters' ever-changing social circle was not his field of expertise.

“No.”

It took a moment but when Vegeta made the connection of what his daughter was saying, _what she was doing_ , unexpected pride swelled in his chest.

Placing a hand on her impossibly small shoulder he reached for the onion powder. If Vegeta knew a thing or two about anything it was the art of indirect warfare.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on Hiraeth - no worries ;)


	4. Have you ever lied to me?

“Have you ever lied to me?”

The question startled him and he opened his eyes to find Bulma next to him, observing the expanse of stars in the dark night sky. It was an unusually pleasant night, the temperature and thickness of the air evoking a tingling sensation somewhere deep inside of him. Almost like a memory he couldn’t quite recall, couldn’t quite bring back to life.

Next, to him Bulma shifted on her club-style patio chair, fully facing him now, her eyes full of expectancy while holding a cup of coffee. Only the gods knew how she could drink the foul beverage before going to bed.

His own eyes ventured to the stars mulling over her question. Had he ever lied to her? Vegeta had lived a life full of deception and lies, had mastered the art with such skill that he could even lie to himself without truly noticing. Lying to Bulma felt completely wrong though, almost as much as admitting it.

“What kind of question is that?”

Deflection. Another skilled he had honed to perfection throughout his life. The woman shifted, pulling her legs up into the chair with her, the way her Ki flicked told him she was not amused by the game he was playing. In the silence that followed his curiosity won out, his gaze flicked back to her, trying to assess her next move. Bulma Briefs was never quiet. What he saw surprised him, her forehead was laid in deep contemplation, causing tiny wrinkles between her delicate brows.

“Did you even think about me? You know....” she waved her hand to indicate she was speaking about the incident earlier that day, “... how I would feel to lose you to some creepy copy-cat organism?!”

When her eyes snapped back up to meet his they blazed, an odd mixing of anger and hurt, and he was once again reminded of how Saiyan she could be. His gut twisted. Had he thought about her when the purple slime had stolen his powers? When had he slowly started to fade from existence? Vegeta remembered to look in Trunks eyes with startling clarity, the moment his hand went through his own, no longer a physical solid, teetering on the edge of vanishing.

A snappy remark was burning on the tip of his tongue, and as his eyes darted from the compound that held his sleeping son back to her blue oceans, he swallowed it. This wasn’t the moment for deception or lies, there was a seriousness in her features that told him this transcended their usual banter. She needed to know because she truly did not know what deep down he could never deny her.

Her chair scraped loudly over the expensive stone tiles of the patio, dragging her chair towards him till it touched his knees, he leaned forward. Large tan hands grasping her face, thumbs stroking the shell of her ear as he leaned his forehead against hers. Vegeta couldn’t recall if his own mother had ever done this with him, but with Bulma, it felt right. Like a deeply rooted instinct being soothed. Her legs had uncurled from their position on her chair and where now being placed in his, allowing her to pull herself closer.

As her hands grasped his wrists by her face Vegeta allowed his eyes to drift shut. His next words came surprisingly easy;

“Always, Bulma. Always.”


	5. I'm a lucky Girl. I'll admit that.

Vegeta simply dodged the wrench she had aimed for his head and it hit the far wall of her laboratory noisily before falling to the ground.

“What makes you think I will ever help you again after that stunt! You have no idea what you did!”

Bulma was screaming at him, her hand balling into fists before uncurling to hurl another object in the direction of the root of all her troubles.

Vegeta dodged them all, the smug smirk growing on his face only fueled her absolute outrage. That entitled asshole had taken the prototype engine she had been working on so hard and left it on the roof of Capsule Corp - in the rain!! All because she had refused to look at his, once again, wrecked Gravity Room right away. Now the piece of the machine was ruined and she would have to scramble to even make the deadline to present it.

“You have the blueprints for it, just have one of your underlings put another one together” his words were nonchalant, given with a one-shoulder shrug “now you have lots of time to take a look at the Gravity Room”

His calm exterior did nothing to calm her rage. Vegeta was a smart man, she had come to learn and respect that about him, but some earth principles seemed to forever be beyond his grasp. Like for example, pissing the person you want to enlist help from off is a bad idea. Destroying that persons hard work, which was what put the requested help on hold the first time around, was an even worse idea.

“No Vegeta, as a matter of fact, I do not! You seem unable to grasp the concept of hard work and just how lucky you are that my family is always fixing and cleaning up after you!”

She deflated with her statement, flopping into her chair and surveying her desk, trying to formulate a plan on where to even start with reconstruction. Technically Vegeta was right, she had very detailed blueprints and could give this to an assistant, but, he was not going to win on a technicality.

Before she knew what was happening she was spun around in her laboratory chair, Vegeta loomed over her with a facial expression that all but screamed ‘murder’ and ‘rage’. The backside of her chair hit the table with a thud and thick strong arms came down on each side of her. Effectively trapping her face to face with the now pissed of Saiyan.

“I have a perfectly good understanding of hard work and the only one who doesn’t know how lucky they are is you” his lips curled back “lucky to still be alive”.

Bulma was confident that Vegeta wouldn’t hurt her, she had always been, something her friends had called her crazy for. Observing the Saiyan leaning so close to her she concluded that perhaps her words had been a bit unjust, Vegeta did know about hard work and twisted luck. More than she would likely ever find out.

Her fingers found one of the large scars on his chest on their own accord. The smoothness of his skin still always surprised her, and he was always warm, something she had come to love during the cool summer nights.

As her fingers traveled upward, over the width of his chest and finally his well-defined shoulder, up his neck and into his hair, Bulma remembered how the same man that was currently snarling at her had clung to her last night. Grasping her hips with bruising force while panting and moaning his approval with every subtle rotation of her hips.

Ever since she had been a little girl she had chased danger and the thrill that came with it. Fast forward all these years and now danger personified stood between her legs, pinning her to the spot with a gaze so intense it made her spine tingle.

“I am a lucky girl. I’ll admit that”.

The wicked smirk that tugged at his lips was all the answer she needed before Vegeta dipped his head the final inches. 


	6. I swear, I'm not scared

She couldn’t believe they had done this to her.  ** _Her!!!_**  Bulma Briefs, heiress to Capsule Corp, brilliant and beautiful and in her prime! Left behind in a cave on an alien world like she hadn’t been the brain behind all this! She had made it possible, without her everyone would still be sitting on earth mourning the dead with no way to bring them back. 

She huffed in annoyance kicking a rock further into the cave and towards her Capsule house. This damn planet didn’t even have a day/night circle, the sun was always out, and she hadn’t brought any sunscreen, she would get premature wrinkles this way. 

Being all alone with one of the Dragonballs and no real means of defending herself did not sit well with her. Gohan and Krillin would get an earful when they returned from the village they had been ‘checking out’ for an eternity by now. 

When the ground shook a few seconds later Bulma all but scrambled back into her small home, turning the lights off for good measure. Too many homicidal maniacs on one planet at once. She was still unsure if her inability to sense Ki was a blessing or a curse. Hearing footsteps a few minutes later curiosity got the best of her, it had to be one of the boys, this cave was well hidden and nobody else knew she was here. 

When she cracked the door a few inches to see if she could get a glimpse of whoever was outside she was greeted with a set of dark eyes. Shock and surprise sent her tumbling a few steps back, leaving the door to yawn open wide to fully reveal the intruder; Vegeta. 

The Saiyan she had last seen on Television when he attempted to destroy the earth and take possession of the Dragonballs. His armor had already taken a few hits and his face was scouter-free, now this close, she noted how it was also rather symmetrical. A notion that aesthetically was strangely pleasing.

 “Hand over the Dragonball”

His voice a barked command that made her twitch involuntarily before shaking her head. She was going to bring her friends back to life! Vegeta shook his head in irritation before stalking past her deeper into the house, he was clearly going to simply take the precious orb away. Not on her watch! Scrambling to her feet and for her capsules Bulma stalked after him, armed with a gun this time around. She knew that bullets were technically useless against a being like him, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She found him in the bathroom, aiming straight for his head.

“I swear I’m not scared! I will shoot you!”

The Dragonball had already been tucked away under Vegeta’s arm, she had taken a bath earlier and brought it to the bathroom with her, wanting to have it within eyesight while she relaxed. The Saiyan simply laughed at her empty threat, while it was meant to be arrogant and demeaning, Bulma couldn’t help but notice how young he looked when his brows weren’t drawn in anger. As quickly as it had started it was also over, his attention swaying to something Bulma couldn’t see or sense beyond the walls of her small house. 

Before she knew what was happening Vegeta was striding past her, pressing the Dragonball to her chest.

 “Zarbon is here. I’ll be back for this, don’t think you are safe woman”

With that he was gone from sight, leaving her and the Dragonball behind, and Bulma couldn’t help but think that it was a shame he wasn’t on their side. He was kinda cute - when he wasn’t frowning. 

 

 


	7. Prince of darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not an ask. Just a random one-shot

She should have known that someday she was going to end up here. Was a smart woman, pretty too, but with Vegeta, she had fallen hard - and despite everything, she didn’t mind. She knew she should. But Bulma couldn’t force herself to do as she knew society dictated her to do.

They’d met at a bar. Uncomplicated. Like normal, average, people. She just on the verge of her first big scientific breakthrough, him a few years into running his own practice. It had been like a lightning strike, a force of nature, unstoppable, electrifying- and for any observer with half a brain - terrifying.

The sex that night had been amazing - still was - and everything after that flowed so effortlessly. He was an amazing lawyer, a driven man that understood how to wield power. In some twisted turn of fate, they’d gotten a little tipsy at a local upscale club, celebrate one of his victories, had danced and grinded - well she had - on another shamelessly in a sweaty version of Tango.

And someone had filmed. Had put it online. Had made them famous.

It had been surreal, great for their carriers. Clients flocking to him, and people fighting over funding her research and projects. It had been exhilarating. And then the suspicion and accusations had started.

After all, Vegeta was the son of a yakuza. Not just any. The son of the boss, a man so high up the food chain he had avoided prison and an investigation entirely after being accused of murdering his wife - Vegeta's mother - in cold blood.

She’d know of course. He had mentioned it. She’d heard Raditz talk about it. Seen their tattoos. Had accepted that part of him without ever blinking an eye. She loved this man, in all his protective, borderline possessive, love of her he worshipped her. Maybe never directly in public, but she relished the knowledge of being the only one that got to see this side of him.

They’d been together for years - traveled the globe- engaged for many more summers -enough to really get the press talking - and then gotten married in the most private and traditional of all ceremonies during cherry blossom season.

She’d known that his father wasn’t very fond of her. Wasn’t very fond of the way Vegeta had left and pursued a career in law. Was irritated by the way his son only slowly, unwillingly took the rains, fully capable of violence and carnage, but not fully enthusiastic about it either.

She’d known the moment she had opened the door and seen the officers that push had come to shove. That the repressed hate for the crime against his mother and the darkness of his childhood had boiled over. Had known that she was now married to the most powerful man of the underworld. From Prince of darkness to its King. But she loved this man, loved the way his voice sounded when he laughed and his eyes closed in bliss when he came.

She’d been at court. Very first row. Had been as surprised as the blinding sea of cameras as he had leaned over the small banister, orange jumpsuit and clinging chains, and kissed her. Deep and passionate, like a man that had just spend weeks in solitary, right in front of the public eye, for the first time. Ever.

Now, 8 weeks after opening her front door, she stood in a small room, with a single bed, wondering just how in the hell he had managed this. Deep down knowing that somehow she had always known she’d end up here all along. They weren’t their youngest anymore, this was a complete surprise, but she knew she had to tell him.

When they finally ushered him in everything became a whirlwind of movement and before she knew what was happening Vegeta had her against the wall. Legs wrapped around his waist, still covered in orange that was too bright, fingers working on her blouse, lips sucking greedily at her neck.

She had to tell him.

Small hands grasp his face, forced him to still. Her breath as hard and panting as his own. It’s a whisper against his lips when she tells him. Isn’t sure herself why she doesn’t say it louder, perhaps she’s afraid she’ll be alone with this. Maybe he won’t be excited. Won’t want it. Maybe it’s too late in their life’s. Maybe it’s the wrong time.

His eyes a dark and unreadable, sometimes she glimpses the monster they all say he is. But then his eyes close and he’s softly rubbing his nose against hers. A hand so much larger than her own on her still flat stomach. The kisses and rhythm that follows are much gentler than the frantic ripping from a few minutes ago.

She knows he’ll be home. Knows it’ll likely not be legal, will cost violence and blood. But in this moment, when he’s all but melting into her she can’t seem to care. She knows it’s selfish.

Even months later, she can’t feel guilty. The way he is laying next to her, bare chest and dark, muscled skin, their son sleeping on his chest, blanketed in the large strong hand of his father, she knows she’d justify anything for them. She’d become a monster herself if need be. Because it’s like magnetism, and what they have created together is like electricity , unstoppable and yes, maybe even a little terrifying. 


End file.
